Goblin Sage Poem by Alexander Onoja

Ode was his name, he was called the Goblin,
his fangs too sharp runs down his lips.
Awaken'd by a witch from his coffin,
he believes he has the world at his finger tips.
He overcame death with his age-less age,
o aye! I salute the Goblin sage.

He walks through the village once every full moon,
he has claws, could he be a hybrid?
His hairs stands up at the sound of moonlight tune,
in search to create an army of his own breed.
He frees himself from mortals cage,
none could stand the Goblin sage.

The hunter's corpse walks,
his hair so mated, but still so fine.
The hunter, his greatest enemy stalks,
drinking sour grapes, from fresh good vine.
The hunter is alone, no human engage,
to help fight the Goblin sage.

The Goblin needs blood to calm his taste,
he gnaw at flesh that surrounds the graveside.
He respects no one, all alpha he distaste,
although alpha runs through his veins on the inside.
When he's angry, we feel his rage,
o aye! Who can help calm the Goblin sage.

He looks scary, so deadly pale,
invading the silence with violent screams.
He's the monster we heard of in the tale,
told by mortal sire in ancient dreams.
Written in a dark, creepy and paranormal page,
hidden in the dark by the Goblin sage.